


Wrestle

by MK_Marlowe



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Multi, OT3 Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19061278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MK_Marlowe/pseuds/MK_Marlowe
Summary: Gaby and Napoleon will wrestle the USSR for it.





	Wrestle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wuhnona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuhnona/gifts).



The laser is missing.

Illya doesn’t bother searching for it; if it is not where he left it, then either Napoleon or Gaby has it. And neither has asked permission.

Their current base of operations (a small house in upstate New York, lovely in its simplicity, horrific in its interior design) has few places to hide, so when he can find neither of his teammates inside, he goes out to the garage. It’s a safe bet, and music is playing, so–

The thing is, and he’s told them both this, he’s told them repeatedly–he is still considered “on loan” from the USSR. UNCLE may or may not be able to keep him. And if they cannot, then every piece of equipment Illya has managed to bring with him from the USSR must be accounted for and returned. He has no doubt that his file with the KGB is up to date, in all ways. And if he opens the door a bit roughly, if it bounces off the wall to announce his presence, then it is only to remind them that he is here, that he knows when his things are missing, that they could stand to be a bit more responsible themselves–

Gaby is elbows deep in an engine, the laser resting with her other tools, grease and oil smudging her cheeks. She’s staring up at him, unimpressed, and somehow the same look is on Napoleon’s face, as he sits perched on a box not too far away, still in his suit, not a button undone nor a hair out of place.

“That’s mine,” Illya says, into the silence that is made only more profound by the goofy music chiming through it.

“I’ll wrestle you for it,” Gaby offers, and Napoleon grins, tapping his mouth with long, elegant fingers.

“You’re busy, I’ll handle this,” is what Napoleon says. He stands with deliberate insouciance, Illya knows it’s as deliberate as the care with which the man removes his suit coat and rolls up his sleeves. 

“I’m not wrestling anyone for it, it’s mine,” Illya tries, because the situation is spiraling out control. He doesn’t know how, but it’s already out of his hands.

“The lady wants the laser, and I am her champion.” He’s undoing his tie, and now Illya’s irritation is worse, because why is Napoleon lounging in a dirty garage in his suit? Gaby is wearing her work overalls, smart woman that she is. 

“You’re going to crease that,” he snarls, and marches over. Napoleon makes as if to dodge him, but it’s a game–so many games his teammates play. It continually knocks him off-balance.

“You’re going to crease it,” Gaby says, and that’s the only warning he gets. Napoleon tosses the tie to her before tangling himself with Illya, knocking him over only by virtue of knocking himself over, tripping Illya with legs and hips all akimbo. He lands softer, though, by landing on Napoleon, who sacrifices himself to the floor.

“Don’t–”

It’s all Illya manages in English, switching to cursing in Russian when Gaby gets his hands tied behind his back, the tie pulled tight.

“If you come first, you give up all rights to the laser,” Napoleon tells him, as serious as he can be, before he grabs Illya’s face in both hands and pulls him into a kiss.

And it’s not fair, and it’s ridiculous, and Illya tries to fight him, biting at his lips and swearing, but Gaby is straddling them both now, leaning close to whisper in his ear, “Isn’t it worth it, to have him here, like this, all filthy and rough?”

Her nails rake down his clothed back and Illya chokes, furious and so very hard. Napoleon bucks underneath him and it’s worse, it’s better, it’s--

“You can’t claim my things,” he hisses over his shoulder when Napoleon releases his mouth just long enough to gasp. “What if they want it back--”

“We’re not letting them take anything back,“ Gaby promises him.


End file.
